Revenge Suck: Stranger’s Cock at My Door

Saturday, 2:20 PM. My salon smells like fresh shower gel and heartbreak. Hair dripping down my shoulders, robe barely knotted, cleavage spilling out. Eloïse and Cassandra on the couch, bitching about Roméo’s fuckup with Flora. Doorbell buzzes. Eloïse opens—bam, Virgile stands there, tall, ripped, eyes hungry. ‘New neighbor,’ he lies, voice shaky. Cassandra whispers, ‘Don’t let Juliette see.’ Too late. I strut out, robe teasing open. His gaze locks on my tits. Phone vibrates in my pocket—Roméo’s pathetic texts. Ignore. Heart pounds. Days of swiping, chatting horny pics, now real. No dinner bullshit. I want cock now.

I slide a finger in my mouth, suck slow, eyes burning into his. ‘Shut up,’ I mouth. Robe drops. Naked curves glow under light. He stammers, ‘You’re… wow.’ Kneel fast, yank his jeans. Cock springs half-hard, thick, veiny, musky scent hits—sweat, cologne, pure man. Eloïse smirks, ‘Queen takes pawn.’ Cassandra freaks, ‘This is nuts!’ Grip his shaft, stroke firm. Balls heavy. Suck deep, tongue swirling head, throat gagging wet. Slurps echo. He groans, ‘Fuck, so hot.’ Spit drips chin. Pump faster, balls slap.

The Knock That Ignited It All

Drag him to bedroom door. Eloïse follows, horny glint. Cassandra bolts, door slams. Inside, shove him on bed. Straddle, grind wet pussy on thigh. ‘Fuck me raw, stranger. Punish this cheating hole.’ Cock spears in—stretch burns sweet. Pound hard, bed creaks, skin slaps loud. ‘Deeper! Wreck me!’ Eloïse strips, fingers my ass, licks clit. Virgile’s cock biases left, hits spots wild. Sweat pours, tits bounce. Switch: I ride reverse, ass cheeks clap. Eloïse sits on his face, muffles moans. ‘Eat her, make us scream!’ Cum builds—his dick throbs, I clench. He explodes inside, hot jets flood. I squirt, soak sheets. Eloïse cums yelling. Flip, he rails Eloïse doggy, I scissor her, tongues clash.

15:00. Collapse panting. Cigarette glows, smoke curls. Virgile’s spent cock twitches, cum leaks thighs. ‘That cock’s crooked—fun ride.’ Eloïse nods, guilty grin. Cassandra’s texts ping: ‘Sluts!’ Ignore. Buzzkill gone. Virgile grins, ‘Round four?’ Nah. Vengeance sated. ‘Get out.’ Robe on, hair towel-dry. Door shuts. He’s ghost. Back to mirror—lips swollen, pussy sore, power rush fades. Roméo who? Phone silences. Stranger erased. Just me, alive, ready for next click.